And You Let Him Go
by Gmariam
Summary: "Jack, something's wrong." You almost kick yourself for not leaving sooner to check on the man. Jack, Owen, and Ianto, set post-Countrycide and rated M for language. Not my usual fare: you have been warned.


And You Let Him Go

You sigh as you glance at the all paperwork that needs to be completed, not looking forward to it by any means. Even though the majority of the case was turned over to the local Welsh police, there are still reports to be filed on your grand entrance at the end, as well as Tosh, Gwen, and Ianto's injuries. You hate filling out reports when your team gets hurt; it means you failed them, somehow.

Tosh escaped relatively unscathed, with little but scratches and bruises to show from her captivity and escape. Gwen was lucky that the buckshot wound was relatively superficial; it could have been so much worse. Both women, however, had looked shell-shocked by the time they had got back to the Hub, and you know the emotional trauma will be far more difficult to deal with in the coming days and weeks, particularly for Gwen, always needing answers when sometimes there simply isn't one.

And then there was Ianto. You can hardly bring yourself to look at the notes Owen had scribbled before they had all gone home for the night. Knocked unconscious, beaten and bruised—tenderized, Ianto had woodenly called it—then tied and wrapped in a dirty sack, ready to have his throat slit and bled. Ianto's physical injuries were far worse, and you shudder to think of what the man must be going through emotionally.

You had offered to stay with him when you had taken him to his flat, but either Ianto was in too much shock to realize what you were saying or too exhausted to accept. He'd taken his medicine and walked you to the door, insisting he would be all right, although he might be in later than usual the next morning.

You had told them all to stay home; you suspect only Gwen will actually do so.

The cog alarms go off and you glance out to see Owen enter the hub. It is mid-morning—almost lunchtime, really—and he catches your questioning eye and simply shrugs. You are not surprised Owen has come in to work, though you are surprised the doctor is the first one.

Turning back to your reports, you let your mind wander to Ianto again, debating whether to call and check on him. You are fairly certain the man has a stubborn streak a mile wide when it comes to taking care of himself or asking for help. Ianto could be suffering terribly and not even crack a grimace, let alone seek help. Thinking back to some of the things that have passed between the two of you—both the good and the bad—you decide to see for yourself that Ianto is all right. And if Tosh hasn't come in, you can stop and check on her as well.

You grab your coat and head toward the exit when your mobile rings. For some reason, you expect (or hope?) it is Ianto, only to find it is Tosh. You frown, hoping nothing is wrong.

"Jack?" she says. "Is Ianto there?"

"No," you reply, glancing around just to be sure. "I told everyone to take the day off."

"Jack, something's wrong." She sounds worried, and you stop to listen closely. Owen comes up from the medical bay, as if somehow sensing that something is going on.

"With Ianto? What is it?" You almost kick yourself for not leaving sooner to check on the man.

"I don't know," she says, obviously frustrated. "He just called and asked what had happened to him, why he was covered in cuts and bruises." She pauses. "Jack, he didn't remember any of it."

"Did you tell him what happened?" you ask carefully, knowing that memory loss is a tricky thing to tread through.

"I told him he was injured on a case yesterday. He didn't remember any of it, Jack. Not the cannibals, not me or Gwen or anything."

"Shit," you murmur, running a hand through your hair and turning toward Owen. The doctor mouths _'What's wrong?_' and you reply, _'Ianto.'_

"I think he's coming in," says Tosh. "He's confused, but Jack—he's really, really angry too. He thinks somebody did something to him to make him forget."

"All right, we'll deal with it. Owen's here, so he can go over him again. Thanks for letting me know. And Tosh?"

"Yes, Jack?" she asks.

"Are you all right?"

You can almost see the smile on her face. "Yes, I'm fine. I remember everything, but I'm starting to feel better."

"Good. Stay home. We'll call you and let you know what's going on."

"Thank you, Jack. Just make sure he's all right."

"We will. Get some rest."

You hang up the phone and cross your hands over your chest. "You said he was clear to go home last night," you say to Owen. "Is it possible you missed something?"

Owen bristles at the implication. "Is it possible I missed something? Of course, it's always possible. Is it likely? No. What's happened?"

"Ianto can't remember anything about yesterday," you reply, running a hand across your chin as you try to understand what's happened. "He called Tosh in a panic because he had no idea what had happened to him."

Owen whistles under his breath. "That's always hell of a way to wake up. But I didn't note any signs of a concussion last night."

"He was fine when I dropped him off," you murmur, trying to remember. "No disorientation, no slurred speech, no personality change. Just tired, in shock. He didn't want me to stay and help, so I left."

"Maybe he drank too much afterwards," Owen snickers, although he stops quickly when he sees your face. "All right, probably not. He knows better than to drink on medication. Do we need to head over there? I can grab my gear and go."

"Tosh said he's on his way, so—" You're interrupted by the alarms going off again, and Ianto strides through the door, dressed casually in jeans and a jumper. His face is still bruised and he moves stiffly, favoring one side. Yet more than anything, he looks angry, more pissed off than you have ever seen him, except for the night Lisa had died.

He walks up to you and pushes you in the chest. "What did you do to me? Why can't I remember?" he demands, his voice low and rough. You stared at him in shock, unused to seeing Ianto this rattled.

"Nothing!" you reply, stepping back with hands raised. "I didn't do anything. You were hurt yesterday, pretty bad. We were out in the field, and you were captured."

"I got that from Tosh," Ianto snaps, and his face dark and irate. "I want to know why I don't remember anything about the last thirty-six hours."

You inhale sharply; thirty-six hours is a long time to forget, even if he had been concussed "What do you last remember?" you ask cautiously.

"I remember you asking me to pack the SUV, but I don't remember what for." He stops and crosses his arms over his chest as if suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Where did we go? What really happened?"

You glance at Owen, at a loss for words when faced with this angry, upset man before you.

"Owen, are you sure you didn't miss anything? A concussion, maybe? Why can't he remember?"

"How the hell should I know?" Owen snaps defensively. "He didn't present with signs of a concussion last night. Maybe he just doesn't want to remember. It was a bloody mess out there."

Ianto narrows his eyes at the doctor. "Did you Retcon me, then? Is that why I can't remember?"

Owen throws up his hands and swears in response, and you step forward, sensing a tension that could rapidly grow out of hand.

"Of course he didn't Retcon you," you tell Ianto, trying to calm him. Ianto throws off your arm, steel blue eyes slightly wild as he turns and paces. "Ianto, you were probably concussed and lost the memory while you were sleeping."

Owen glances up, watching Ianto closely, but Ianto shakes his head, refusing to believe.

"No, it's too…precise. Too focused. I've been knocked around before, this is something else." He takes a deep breath and faces you. "Tell me what happened."

You glance at the doctor, who shrugs, knowing—as you do—that Ianto will not be swayed. So you nod slowly, choosing your words carefully.

"We went out to the Brecon Beacons to investigate a series of missing persons reports. You and Tosh were captured, but you gave her the chance to escape." You reach toward his head, toward the large lump still visible there. "That's how you got that. She was able to run, but they kept you. They hit you, kicked you." You take a deep breath. "They were going to kill you."

Ianto's face is an impassive mask as he processes what he's just heard. "There's more," he finally says. "Tell me the rest."

"Ianto—" you start, but he cuts you off, the vicious tone to his voice once more surprising you.

"Tell me, Jack. I deserve it if I went through all that only to lose my memory of it."

And he is right, in a way. Yet you wonder at the wisdom of telling him, even as you nod once more and continue.

"They were cannibals." You speak in a flat tone, though saying it makes you furious once more to say it. "They beat you to tenderize you, and when I arrived they were about to bleed you."

Ianto's face has lost its mask. His eyes scrunch in confusion, his mouth moves but no sounds come out. You reach out to his shoulder, but he turns away, obviously not wanting to be touched. Can you blame him?

"Ianto, I'm sorry, but that's the truth, and your memory of it will likely come back as your condition improves. There's nothing to worry about, we're all safe and it's all over."

His chin is working, as if he is chewing on words he cannot get out. Finally he points a long finger at you. "I believe you, but there's still something wrong." And he turns on his heel and storms down to the medical bay.

"What the hell are you doing?" Owen calls as you both run after him. Ianto has gone to one of Owen's medical drawers and taken out a long needle and syringe. He throws Owen a look of such venom that you almost start to wonder if there is indeed something else going on beside Ianto's injury. A concussion would do many things to him, but this caustic hatred is surely not one of them.

You simply stand and stare as Ianto rolls up his left sleeve, making a fist. He then inserts the needle into the vein at his elbow, hissing at the pain.

"Bloody hell, teaboy," Owen growls, stepping forward to help. "At least let me do whatever the fuck you're trying to do."

"No," says Ianto. The syringe is almost full. He pulls it out, bending his arm at the elbow to stop the bleeding and holding out the syringe. "Test it. Now."

"Ianto, I don't know what you expect us to find—" you start, because now you are confused and growing more worried by the moment. Has Ianto lost his grip on reality? He's been through so much, it seems so possible, that you hate to admit that it might have finally happened.

"Check it for Retcon. Now, Jack. I want to know."

"Ianto, Jack's right, you've probably just got a concussion," Owen starts, but Ianto glares at him, then moves to wrap his elbow before pulling down his sleeve.

"I do not. I have none of the symptoms, and you said yourself I was fine last night. I was allowed to sleep on my own without observation. I've lost a very specific amount of time. Therefore, the logical conclusion is that I was Retconned. And I want to know." He steps up to Owen, chest to chest, refusing to back down. "Test it."

"Jack—" Owen starts, but you can see the light in Ianto's eyes: it is not madness, it is determination. He truly believes something has happened to him, and for some reason, in spite of so many reasons not to, you believe him. Or you want to, because the alternative could be even worse. So you simply nod your head once.

"Do it."

Owen stares you down, but he can never win, and he knows it. He finally turns with a huff and begins his work. Ianto leans over his shoulder, while you simply stand there, your coat still on, your thoughts a confused jumble. Was it even possible?

It occurs to you that Ianto could have Retconned himself after you left him, yet if he had, his response seems somehow wrong for someone who had willingly given up his memories. Ianto is mad as hell, not confused and upset.

It is not long before Ianto inhales when he sees something. "That's it, isn't it?" he asks softly, his voice low and dangerous. He is staring at the screen; Owen has closed his eyes. "That's Retcon."

"Yeah, it's Retcon," the doctor says, hanging his head for some reason. "Level one, I'd say."

You come stand next to them, staring at the screen. Ianto has been Retconned, and the thought suddenly fills you with anger as well. What if the man had lost more than thirty-six hours? What if he had lost weeks, or months? But more importantly, how had he got it? Had someone given it to him, or had he taken it himself?

Ianto just stares at the screen. He takes a deep breath as he closes his eyes, then opens them to gaze at you with liquid regret.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" you ask.

"For this," he replies, and he suddenly lashes out at Owen, sending the man reeling backward with a strong right hook to the jaw. Before Owen can react, Ianto has pummeled him three more times, then kicks his feet from under him, sending the doctor to the floor. You finally step in, pulling Ianto's arms behind his back, before the Welshman can kick Owen into the ground.

"Stop it!" you shout. "That's an order!" Ianto is struggling against you, and you realize too late this man was bound by cannibals the previous day and could very well be reliving that with your touch. When you let go, he practically leaps away, turning and placing his hands on his knees as he breathes deeply. His gaze never leaves Owen, sitting on the floor massaging his jaw.

"You're an arsehole, Jones, you know that?" says Owen. "A fucking arsehole."

"You Retconned me," Ianto gasps, staring at him with pure hatred. "Why? What right did you have to take my memories?"

"I didn't—" Owen starts, and Ianto moves toward him, and you step in once more to stop him.

"Ianto, you don't know it was him. What if you took it yourself?"

Ianto gives him an ugly look. "I've had so many opportunities to Retcon myself, why would I do it now?"

"I don't know," you say, at a loss once more. "Maybe it was too much, maybe—"

"No," Ianto says, shaking his head, eyes still on Owen. "I wouldn't do that, and if I did, I'd let myself know. He did it. Ask him."

Reluctantly, you turn to the doctor, watching with guarded eyes "Owen, talk to me. Did you slip him any Retcon?"

The doctor stands slowly, wiping blood from his mouth now. You frown, because he hasn't answered yet.

"Owen, I need you to tell me the truth."

Owen glares at you, then at Ianto, and finally back at you. "All right. Yes, I slipped him a dose with his other meds."

Ianto steps forward, furious, but you are there to stop him again. "Why?" he growls. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you were messed up, all right?" Owen says. "You were really, really messed up, and I don't just mean physically. They really fucked with you, Ianto. You shouldn't have to remember almost being eaten by a cult of fucking cannibals. No one should."

You just stare, unable to believe this is happening, that one of your teammates has stolen the memories of another. "It wasn't your call," you barely manage to breathe, and Owen actually snorts at you, breaking you out of your reverie and reigniting your anger.

"I'm his doctor. I saw what they did to him. I heard what he said last night. I gave him a full examination, Jack."

"I know, I read the report," you reply, shaking your head. "It's bad, but—."

"I've been through worse," Ianto interrupts heatedly. "You should have trusted me to handle it."

Owen takes a deep breath. "I don't think so. Jack, I didn't put everything in the report. Figured Ianto deserved his dignity, so I left it out and gave him a short term Retcon pill."

"What are you talking about?" Ianto whispers, and your feel a sudden dread begin to grow in the pit of your stomach.

"Did you see yourself this morning, Ianto? All the bruises, different shapes and sizes," Owen says. "Some of them were made by fists and boots, yeah, but others were made by lips and teeth."

"What?" you ask, but Ianto is slowly moving away, shaking his head.

"No," he says. "Don't…"

"I'm sorry, mate," Owen says softly, and he really does sound sorry. "But you were sodomized. They beat you, they used you, and they were going to eat you. After all you've been through, I didn't want you to remember." He swallows, and you are surprised to see tears in his eyes. "I don't want to remember."

Ianto is just staring at Owen with a look of disgust on his face. "You fucking prick," he states very calmly, and then with one last swing lays Owen flat to the ground, unconscious. He shakes out his knuckles before glancing back at you.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," he says, but you don't even know what to say.

"He's wrong, you know," Ianto continues, staring down at Owen. "It didn't happen." Then his eyes move to meet yours. "And it's all your fault."

The accusation jolts you from your shocked stupor. "What does that mean, it's my fault?" you demand, though you have some idea of what he means. Ianto shakes his head as he turns to head up the stairs.

"I remember now," he says. "Everything. It didn't happen. He thinks it did, but it didn't. And because he thought it did, he decided he had the right to take it all away from me." You follow him up the stairs to find him at his computer, typing away furiously at the keys as if pounding them into oblivion will relieve the pain somehow.

"What are you doing?" you demand, your heart clenching in fear because you can see some of what's on the screen, but it can't be, he wouldn't really do such a thing, would he?

"I'm resigning, sir," he says, slamming down the enter key. "Effective immediately. I can't work here anymore."

"Ianto—" you start, following him once more as he storms toward the cog door.

"I'll be back tomorrow to collect my things. Right now I can't be here." He glances around the vastness of the Hub, the only place you've ever called home. You can't imagine willingly leaving it, and yet he is. He has.

"Ianto, I'm sorry—" You try again, but he only laughs bitterly.

"For what?" he says. "It's not your fault, not really. You dragged us out there, insisted I tag along when I could have coordinated from here, fucked me behind the SUV when we'd finished packing it up. But you didn't get me captured, you didn't beat me, and you didn't Retcon me."

"Then why are you quitting?" you demand.

"Because I should have quit before, after Lisa," Ianto replies, refusing to look at you. "Because I can't do this job anymore...I don't want to do this job anymore."

"Ianto, we can work this out," you say, knowing your words must sound hollow to him. The look on his face is too determined; this is not a decision he has come to lightly, and what Owen did to him has only pushed him over the edge.

"I don't want to work it out, Jack," he says, and now he faces you head on, meets your eyes with a face drawn pale with heartbreak and pain. "I want to leave. I want a normal life, where coworkers don't shag each other and lie about it, or take one another's memories without asking. I don't want to fight aliens who turn out to be humans, or humans who turn into aliens." He takes a shaky breath before finishing. "I'm tired of resisting, I'm tired of giving in, I'm tired of trying. I'm just tired, Jack, and I'm leaving."

You follow him up to the tourist office, speechless. He is deadly serious. He is leaving Torchwood, and you don't know what to feel: guilt, loss, anger, pain. All of it, none of it? Do you let him go or talk him out of it?

"Dammit, Ianto," you say, your anger finally working through the shock. "You can't go. We need you here."

"No, you don't," Ianto sighs as he glances around the office. "Gwen can run the office, Tosh can make a good cup of tea, Owen can cover the vaults, and you can feed Mfanwy. She's almost used to you." There is the smallest hint of a bitter smile before he turns and heads toward the door. "You'll be fine…better off, really…without me."

You continue to follow him and grab his arm. "No, we won't. You do far more than that, you know that, and you are damn good at what you do. We need you." You pause and swallow hard. "I need you."

"You just need another easy shag, sir," he says, the formality stinging more than the comment itself.

"I don't want you to leave," you say, hearing the break in your voice and irrationally hoping it gets through to him even if words do not. "Not because of me, not because of Owen, not because of what happened yesterday."

He turns toward you and places a hand on your chest. "I'm leaving because I can. Because I know you'll let me."

"I won't," you say, your voice now a harsh whisper.

To your surprise, he leans forward to kiss you, a short kiss but fierce and full of fire. "You will."

"Ianto—"

"Good-bye, Jack." He turns and walks out the door…and you let him go.

* * *

Author's Note:

As I said, not my usual fare. But there is a story behind this tale. I made a confession at Torchwoodian Confessions, a Tumblr blog, that went something like this:

"Why are there so many stories where Jack takes Ianto home after Countrycide, gently helps him shower, and lovingly sleeps with him (sex or not)? It makes me want to write something shockingly angry and disturbing instead."

That's not really a complaint, by the way, but more of an observation; fanon is funny sometimes, you have to admit. Kiddywonkus on AO3 decided to try and write such a thing, and it was quite good, but it also made me think—you know, this is my confession, I should see if _I_ can pull it off myself. And so this is now my attempt. Something a bit darker, a bit more twisted than what I normally write. Not that shocking or disturbing, perhaps, but definitely angry. Different style, too—second person doesn't work for all readers, but I started in third and found it lacked the immediacy I wanted. So there you go. I enjoyed the challenge and am rather happy with how it turned out. I'd say enjoy but I don't think everyone will. Thoughts are always welcome, though. :)


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